Christmas always floods me with memories. Those memories make me laugh, cry, ache, grin… an entire roller coaster of emotions. I’ve lost a lot of people who I have had the joy of loving and being loved by. I miss hearing my grandmother hum Blessed Assurance while she taught me to cook. The smell of orange and clove makes me miss my dad because he made me stick an entire orange full of cloves for centerpieces….every year!! It’s A Wonderful Life makes me think of staying up late with my mom while she wrapped gifts at the last minute. I even miss the bustle of the drugstore and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. I miss hearing my granddaddy’s stories. One Christmas, he bought me my first car. I drove straight to my best friend’s house to show off my pink car. Yes, pink – don’t ask, I don’t know why. It was officially “rosewood”. What I’d give to have all those people back in my life again, but life keeps moving. I find myself filled with overwhelming gratitude for those memories.

For some reason this year, my thoughts have been flooded with memories of the window seat in my bedroom of the house I grew up in. It was a bench under the window with a blue cushion on top of it. It was my place of solace, dreams, imagination. It was my escape. Early on, I’d read The Bobbsey Twins and play with my dolls. I’d wonder if I’d look like Barbie when I grew up. (Just a subnote: I don’t. I didn’t even turn into Skipper.) I’d watch out the window for neighborhood kids to come by trying to gather enough for a game of kick the can. It’s the place I fell in love with CS Lewis and could escape to Narnia. (I’d also look at Tiger Beat magazine and drool over Eric Estrada, but CS Lewis sounds more refined). It’s where I cried when I didn’t get invited to a slumber party all my friends were. It’s the place I giggled with Emily, listened for Bryan’s 3 wheeler and talked for hours on the phone with the one or two people I’d let behind my mask. It’s where I listened to REO Speedwagon sing “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” when I was falling in love and where I sobbed with a broken heart. It’s where I decided the college I would attend and where I prayed before heading to the church for my wedding. My window seat.

There’s one image that keeps pulling me back to this place. Perhaps it’s because I’m now the adult and I’m too busy to stop and appreciate the moments God has placed before me. I loved when it would snow. We used to get big blankets of snow and we’d play hard all day, but when darkness fell everything and everyone stopped. I’d turn out all the lights and sit for hours on my window seat looking and dreaming out the window. I would liken it to a Thomas Kincade painting. The soft bright of the snow with a hint of light from the moon showing on it made for painting. There were no cars and no people. Complete stillness. It is my mind’s definition of peace. I was safe. I was loved. I had no fears or responsibilities. I’m a romantic and I would sit and dream of walking in the night snow with some great love. That didn’t happen either, but there was always the hope.

This is not an illustration leading up to some deep spiritual lesson. This contains no deep thoughts. It’s just me wandering back over bridges I’ve crossed, missing the people who meant the world to me and hoping my own children feel surrounded by love, joy and peace just as I did.